


A Fairytale for Broken Men

by nhpw



Series: Fire and the Flood [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM Scene, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Businessman Dean, Caring Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester BDSM, Crying Castiel, Diary/Journal, Dom Benny, Dom Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Boyfriend Dean, I can't stop, Kneeling, M/M, Massage, Mentor Benny, Naked Cuddling, New Relationship, Punishment, Service Submission, Sub Castiel, Sub Drop, What Have I Done, there will be more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Castiel, Dean has found everything he's ever wanted. It's perfect, and it scares him to death.</p>
<p>In Dean, Castiel has found something he wasn't looking for but desperately needs. It's perfect, and it scares him to death.</p>
<p>Fear is an incredibly powerful force. The key is not to let it control your destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fairytale for Broken Men

**Author's Note:**

> HI!!
> 
> Oh my gosh, you guys - I'm speechless. The response to "Mine From the Start" has been overwhelming and amazing and I can't thank you all enough. I think I can honestly say it's the most well-received piece I've ever written and I'm just blown away by the response. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!
> 
> I did hint at (and then outright promise in the comments, because I'm a masochist) a sequel, and here it is. I hope it lives up to the hype around the original, and that you folks find it a satisfying continuation. The series title "Fire and the Flood" comes from [this song](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/vancejoy/fireandtheflood.html) and was further inspired by [this fantastic video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxw8j7vEN7c).
> 
> AND, as the tags imply... I'm not finished with this 'verse. I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW TO QUIT THEM. "A Fairytale for Broken Men" is set on Saturday of that weekend, and be warned, it's rated M for themes but there isn't any actual sex in this story. At all. It's world-building, personal evolution for both characters, and relationship-cementing stuff, but the reason there's nothing sexual in the tags is because there's no sex. Picture Dean and Cas at this point like a couple of incredibly awkward teenagers who've had a night of really great sex but now they realize they actually have feelings for each other and they're scared to death. So, yeah... they have some things to work out.
> 
> And now, on with the show.

“Castiel.”

“Yes Sir.”

“You bit me.”

Cas is trying mightily to bite back a smirk as he holds his position - naked, kneeling, eyes on the plush gray carpet of the floor. “Yes Sir.”

“You  _ bit _ my  _ dick _ ,” Dean repeats, and Cas has to bite his lip to hold the laughter back now because it just sounds ridiculous, the way it’s coming out. But then Dean is kneeling and lifting his chin between thumb and forefinger and boring into Castiel with stormy green eyes and a locked jaw. “ _ Why _ ?”

He doesn’t really have an answer. Well-- no, he has answers. He has lots of answers like  _ because I wanted you to spank me _ and  _ because I don’t want you to leave _ and  _ because I was trying to keep you here with me when I know you have things to do _ . But they’re all pretty terrible answers that won’t make Dean very happy at all, so he just shakes his head and drops his eyes and mumbles, “I don’t know.”

Dean sighs, and stands, and Castiel returns his gaze to the carpet, the bemused smile gone. Getting a rise out of Dean isn’t nearly as fun or as rewarding as getting a rise out of Balthazar used to be. He misses that, just a little - the predictability that his brattiness would pay off. Not that he’s opposed to Dean’s approach. Quite the contrary; for the past 18 hours, Dean Winchester has been the embodiment of a perfect Dominant, setting a standard that Balthy could never hope to reach.

But old habits die hard.

“I’m disappointed.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. Thing is, Castiel… I think you’re sorry for the wrong reasons.” Cas can’t be sure exactly why, but the statement sends his stomach sinking into a pit. He doesn’t feel exhilarated; he feels  _ ashamed _ . “I thought we had an understanding. Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?”

“Yes Sir.” Why the  _ fuck _ are his eyes burning? Why the  _ fuck _ does he feel the need to break position and rub his fists into his face? Why is he blushing?

Why… so many things. He abandons his thoughts and clings to Dean’s voice. “We agreed on a whole weekend, but I’m giving you an out. Right now. You want it, you stand up, get dressed, walk away and we’ll both consider you to be free to do as you wish, with whomever you wish, for the rest of the weekend. No hard feelings.” There’s a moment of silence and Castiel can’t bring himself to look up. “Now, I gotta shower and get dressed for my day. If you leave, I won’t come looking for you, and that goes both ways. You don’t seek me out ‘neither. But if you’re still here, then you accept your punishment. Take me at my word that it will not be pleasant.”

There are no further words, just the sound of Dean moving away and disappearing behind a closed bathroom door.

When the sound of running water meets Castiel’s ears, he gives the lava tears permission to burn his skin.

***

Dean takes a cold shower, scrubbing vigorously under strong water pressure, hoping that the cold water and physical exertion will cool the rage currently heating his entire body to way past comfortable. He mutters curses and looks down at his cock and--  _ are you fucking kidding me right now? _

He grabs himself roughly and jerks off in a hurry, allowing himself a rage orgasm. It’s not the least bit enjoyable or fun, but Castiel’s beautiful face and wide blue eyes flash through his mind without permission and he cums hard, splattering the back wall with his release.

“Fucking hell.” He finishes scrubbing and turns off the water and stands in front of the mirror instead, leaning hard on the vanity and drawing a series of long, deep breaths. He’s finished and he really does need to go out to help the crew, to survey the dungeon setup, to check in with security on things like feedback and headcount. He needs to make a long and unpleasant call to accounting. He has a fucking _ job to do _ , and he’s so wrapped up in Castiel that he can’t think straight about any of it. If he doesn’t right himself, he’s bound to do a piss-poor job of all of it.

Hell, if he comes out to find the room empty, he’s bound to just crawl right back into bed and ditch his responsibilities entirely in favor of drinking the day away.

The very idea that Castiel might leave causes panic to rise unbidden in Dean’s chest. He draws another breath and holds it until his lungs burn. Then he huffs it out and grips the door handle, opening the door forcefully before he has a chance to lose his nerve.

“Well, now,” he says, mostly to himself as he surveys the room, “this is interesting.”

“You didn’t ask for coffee, but I took the initiative.” He sounds more humble, more genuinely  _ sorry _ , than any submissive Dean’s ever had kneel before him. Certainly more humble than Castiel has been in the time they’ve known each other. “Earlier you took it black, so I assumed that was your usual, but if not, there’s…”

“Thank you, Castiel.” Dean slowly pulls on his bathrobe - dark gray, plush, embroidered “D.W.” on the breast pocket - and ties the belt before walking toward the nightstand. Castiel has not only made coffee but also made the bed to hotel standards, and folded not only his own clothing but Dean’s as well, setting them side by side in neatly organized stacks on top of Dean’s bureau. And yet as Dean exits the bathroom, Castiel has returned to his position, kneeling, naked, on the floor at the foot of the bed. His posture is impeccable: Up off his haunches, hands clasped behind his back, eyes on the floor. “I’m… very pleased.”  _ Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. _ He still needs to carry through with a punishment, he knows this. Especially in the case of Castiel, where he’s trying to teach at the same time that he’s trying to court, he needs to assert himself right now. He can’t cave. He can’t. And yet praise is essential, and he feels giddy just to find Castiel still present, regardless of his extra credit work.

He briefly wonders if Castiel is mindfucking him, but dismisses it just as quickly. It isn’t important right now.

He takes measured steps to the nightstand and picks up the steaming mug of coffee, never taking his eyes off the sub.Castiel stiffens as Dean brushes past, but doesn’t move, not even a millimeter. So Dean puts a comforting hand on his boy’s head and absently rubs his scalp as he drinks his coffee. They exist like that for a solid five minutes - quiet, contemplative meditation. It’s what had been missing that morning, and it quells Dean’s inner demons as the caffeine clears his head. The longer they sit like that, the more he feels the boy relax under his touch, which is just as pleasant. He empties the mug, sets it back down on the polished oak of the nightstand, and clears his throat, hand still resting and playing in the soft dark hair on Castiel’s head. “Your efforts are… amazingly noted and appreciated,” he says slowly, and Castiel responds with a contented  _ hmmm _ that warms Dean on the inside. “But I still need to punish you. If I don’t, I’m not being fair to either of us.”

“Yes Sir. I do, Sir. I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“I know.”  _ Just keep breathing, Dean. Just. Keep. Breathing _ . “The fact that you stayed… speaks volumes.” He removes his hand from Castiel’s head and strolls away. “While I’m out, you’ll reset this space entirely. Clean all of the plugs, rings, dildos and vibrators in my top drawer and put them back where you found them. Put away everything we used last night and this morning. As you work, consider the fact that I won’t be using any of them on you tonight. I want you to think about the way it makes you feel when you consider that I don’t want to play with you right now. Welcome your emotions as they come, and when you’re completely finished, I want you to journal for me. That’s not your punishment. That’s your time for release, because regardless of what else we might do tonight, I’m not going to spank you, and you’re not going to orgasm.” He looks pointedly at Castiel, whose eyes are still on the carpet, but Dean leaves it be because he really doesn’t have anything else to add.

After a moment, the dark hair bobs and there’s a clearing of Castiel’s throat before he says quietly, “Permission to speak freely, Sir?”

“Mmhmmm.”

“I…” There’s hesitation and then those beautiful blue eyes that Dean’s pretty sure he’s already drowning in are open wide and looking up reverently at him. “I appreciate your need to punish me. But I don’t understand the journaling. I’ve never…”

“I’d like you to try. Write what you feel, and don’t hold back. It’s something I’d like you to do for me regularly if we--” He stops abruptly.  _ No. You’re not going to make those assumptions, Dean.  _ Instead he sighs and approaches the kneeling man again, returning a gentle hand to the top of his head. “Just do your best, Angel.”

Castiel bites his bottom lip as he nods in assent and  _ fuck _ , Dean wants to kiss him and hold him and tell him he’s a  _ good boy, such a good boy _ . He wants to sit with Cas on the floor and hold him while they draw up a contract. He wants to lick and kiss and bite that neck before sliding a collar around it.

He wants too much.

Castiel continues to look at him expectantly, but Dean sets his jaw and hardens his face, nodding decisively at the submissive before slipping into a pair of jeans and a burgundy tee that he predictably finds in in the third drawer. Right. He’s only got one change of clothes in here for himself, and nothing for Castiel, although if the guy came from out of town, he must have  _ something _ stashed  _ somewhere _ . But he can’t ask right now. Much as he wants to, he can’t, because if he does, it’ll be like he cares beyond this room.

Which he does. Badly. But… but.

_ Goddammit _ .

He has to get out of here before he says or does something out of place and loses the one chance he has right now of ending the weekend of play on a high note.

“I’ll be back in three hours,” he says with one last look at Castiel, and then he has to go, because he catches the hint of sadness and regret and fucking  _ longing _ in those sapphires, and if he looks for longer than half a second, he’s going to tumble right into them and drown.

***

The door really only clicks closed behind Dean, but the way it echoes in Castiel’s ears, it might as well have been slammed in departure. And then there’s nothing. Despite the activity that must be buzzing about the rest of the club, deafening silence meets Cas’ ears.

_ This is insane _ , he thinks.  _ What the fuck am I even doing? I should go. I should really go, and find someone to… _

_ To what _ ? It dawns on him as he shifts from his knees up to a standing position that he feels entirely sated. There’s nothing else he needs at The Mark this weekend. If he leaves - and that’s a pretty big  _ if _ \- he’ll probably just go to the hotel room where his bags are stashed and drink and watch TV until tomorrow, when the Fest ends and his reservation runs out. And then he’ll go back to his boring job and his boring life and try to pick up the pieces of himself that Balthy left behind into some sort of order.

The thought of his bags back at the hotel reminds him that he doesn’t have a change of clothes, but that only bothers him for a moment. Then he realizes he’s comfortable enough to remain nude, at least for the time being. There seems to be no need for him to go anywhere or do anything beyond the tasks Dean has left him with. Even if he does need to leave this safe space, Kinkfest attendees frequently shed their clothes once safely inside The Mark. No one would give him a second glance for parading around in his birthday suit because most of them would be doing the same.

He uses the bathroom and showers before approaching the bureau drawer that holds Dean’s toy collection so that he can begin his task.

He lets out a low whistle as he pulls the lightweight drawer open.

It’s well-organized - compartmentalized, in fact. And it’s stocked to the nines. He runs his fingers reverently over a row of butt plugs - all black, but increasing from a quarter-inch in diameter to the size of a small fist. In front of them are more plugs, but these all vibrate. Some of them have a remote set in front of them; others just have a switch. In front of  _ that _ are cock rings - some standard, some double-helix; some flexible, some metal; some that vibrate and some that don’t. And then dildos - there are seven, with the same variance as the plugs - and vibrators.

His attention shifts to the cuffs and restraint devices, which are less plentiful but still cover the board: Padded and lambskin cuffs, elastic riggers, two spreader bars. There’s a pile of carabiners and a row of blindfolds in five different fabrics and varying lengths.

Gags… Castiel picks up a spider gag. He’s always admired them, but Balthy didn’t own any. They hadn’t used gags much at all, actually; gagging Castiel meant he wouldn’t be able to run his mouth, and Balthazar had a kink for talking his way through the act. He’d used them once or twice with partners before Balthazar, and he missed them. Dean has others, too; a couple of ball gags and o-rings of various sizes, silver bit gags, a penis gag… He mulls that section for a long time, and his cock hardens to fully erect before he moves on.

Next to two whips, Dean has five floggers: The rope and suede leather ones he’d used last night; an oiled leather one with tapered, plastic-capped tips on narrow falls; one of mixed leather and hemp rope; and one that looks like it’s hand-crafted with a heavy handle, made of… maybe deer skin? It’s fantastically beautiful. As he turns it in his hand, he notices the handle is engraved at the base:  _ Use it well, Cher _ .

There are things missing from the drawer that Cas would have expected to find in a kinky collection like this. Lubes and gels and aftercare stuff… But those could just as well be in a nightstand drawer. He’d certainly been plenty equipped for those purposes thus far.

He hmmms at that a bit before remembering why he’s here in the first place: Dean didn’t ask him to choose something. He asked him to clean.

Right. This is his punishment, and Cas can’t help but admire its effectiveness. Dean knew he’d get an eyeful when he opened that drawer, and he told him to do it - take it all in - knowing none of it would touch his skin tonight.

He sighs and picks up the cock rings, padding to the bathroom to begin his task.

***

“ _ Ooooo _ …”

Dean rolls his eyes as he strides into the control room and his brother immediately catches the scent and sinks his teeth in. “What ‘ _ oooo _ ’?” He asks, hands on his hips and eyes looking out onto the dungeon floor below. “Don’t ‘ _ oooo _ ’ at me.”

“You got it baaaad for somebody,” Sam continues undeterred. “Got your hooks in last night, did you? Who is she?  _ Where _ is she?”

“He,” comes Charlie’s voice, and she ducks around from behind Sam, up out of her chair and into a full-on hug about Dean’s middle before any more words can be said. She looks up at Dean’s face for confirmation before turning back to nod at a wide-eyed Sam. “It’s a ‘he.’”

There’s no sense trying to weasel away, so Dean just clears his throat and nods. “ _ He _ ,” he confirms, “is still back in my room.”

Sam’s brow creases in mock-confusion and he carries it off with a questionable, “Voluntarily?”

“Yes, voluntarily, you asshole. Eat me.”

“Oh, no need, no need, sounds like you’ve got somebody back at the ranch who can handle that one for you.” Sam mimes a handwashing motion before turning back to his sound board and Charlie bursts into laughter.

“All right, all right, fine.” He turns away from their sound board and crosses his arms over his chest, aiming a critical eye at the floor. From Sam and Charlie’s “bird’s eye view” control booth on the second floor, he has a panoramic view of the dungeon below. The stage is being reset by a couple members of the cleaning crew, who are definitely earning their salary at the moment. The other equipment on the floor is positioned roughly where it ought to be. He checks his watch. It’s going on 11 in the morning. “You guys took over from Kevin at what time?”

“Nine o’clock, Chief,” Charlie returns with a clearing of her throat. “The night went great, far as he could tell.”

“Good.”

“You know, Dean…” Sam straightens, his eyes taking on a rare note of sincerity. “If you got somewhere to be… you can trust us to run this show. It’s not our first rodeo, and my name’s on the shingle outside, too.”

“That obvious, huh?” Dean’s suddenly flushed, face burning hot at the realization that he hasn’t even had to  _ say _ anything. His brother just  _ knows _ . He meets Sam’s eyes for an affirmative nod, and then shifts to Charlie, who offers the same. At that he buries his face in his hands. “What am I doing? Why am I doing this? It never ends well.”

“Well, maybe you finally found the one.”

“I always think I’ve found  _ the one _ , Sam. I mean, hell. Lisa was supposed to be the one. Anna was supposed to be the one. Even fucking  _ Benny _ was… well, he wasn’t, but that’s not the point. Point is… is…”

“Is you got it bad for somebody, and I think you’re scared that maybe this time, he might actually want you, too.” Charlie’s not his sister, but given that he has childhood memories of her in pigtails, melting his plastic army men over a campfire, she might as well be. She knows him better than Sam, and even better than himself, sometimes. “So go get ‘im, Tiger.”

Dean offers her a small smile as she play-punches his bicep. “I can’t. Not right now, anyway. He needs…” Dean pauses, flinching. “We both need a little time to think.”

“Well, the offer stands through the night, man.”

The sincerity in Sam’s voice makes it deeper, makes him seem older, like in this moment maybe he’s the older brother for a change, looking out for Dean, rather than the other way around. But it’s neither the time nor place to express any of that. “It better. You owe me,” Dean says as he makes for the control room door. “I ran this place on my own for a week while you whisked that wife of yours off to Bora Bora on a… what’d you call it? A fucking  _ babymoon _ ? What even  _ is _ that?” He notes with satisfaction that Sam’s flipping him off as he exits the space, making for the stairs and off in search of his head of security.

***

In the space of 45 minutes, Castiel has come to one very important conclusion: Dean Winchester is a motherfucking sadist. Not in the traditional sense; his Dominance seems to exist almost entirely in the realm of discipline and control. He doesn’t, as a rule, get aroused by the application of pain. No - Dean’s a fucking  _ mentalist _ about it, weaseling his way into Castiel’s mind when he’s not even  _ here _ . Castiel’s body feels fine; he doesn’t hurt, save for a slight ache in his shoulders from the exertion of hunching over a bathroom sink to clean what now seems like an overabundance of sex toys. No, the pain is internal, sitting in his gut like a brick. He feels guilty to the point of a few tears, which he lets slip as he works. Shame ripples through him, and regret rolls across his mind in a constant, background murmur.  _ I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’d undo it if I could. I’d take it back. I’ll never do it again. Please forgive me _ .  _ Please give me another chance… please don’t make me leave _ .

It hits him as he goes back to the drawer to arrange the plugs in exactly the order Dean had laid them out: This is what being punished is  _ supposed _ to feel like. It’s not supposed to make him want to seek it out; it’s supposed to correct bad behavior.

And has it  _ ever _ .

He considers the absurdity of what he’s doing - washing the sex toy collection of a Dominant he hasn’t even known a full day, and giving the act his all, washing and scrubbing and crying and hoping, absolutely  _ praying _ , that Dean will find his act of penance satisfactory. He wants to please Dean. He wants to do well by Dean. He wants…

He wants more from Dean than he should. He’s naked, and vulnerable, and needy. Dean has made him this way. Dean has made him  _ weak _ .

There’s a pause as he grips the vanity with so much force that his knuckles go white, and then he looks up at his reflection and finds it glaring back at him. He hisses out a breath, seething and hot. And then he picks up a silicone phallus and hurls it against the tile of the bathtub surround with a shout that booms and echoes in the enclosed space.

He clenches his fists in the silence that follows and huffs a few hard breaths before the absurdity of the entire act hits him. Had he really just hurled a dildo across the room?

Yes. Yes he had.

“Oh Cas,” he says, and he’s laughing and shaking his head at himself as he again looks back into the eyes of his reflection, “what in the world have you gotten yourself into?”

***

Dean’s nerves have settled to a comfortable hum, his heart thumping with anticipation along with the club’s steady backbeat by the time he’s able to page Benny to the security office for a sit-down. “Everything looks good, Benny,” he says by way of greeting. “Sam and Charlie said the night went well?”

“And through the morning, too, Dean, but you know that. This meeting ain’t about club security, so why don’t you tell me what you  _ actually _ paged me about so I can go back to the doors with a clear head?”

Dean sighs and plunks into a chair. Of all of his friends and family who staff The Mark, he’s most honest with Benny about his life. It’s mostly because of their history, because they’d gotten honest communication down to a science in the year that Dean had subbed under Benny, but it’s also because Benny is a Dominant, full-stop. He’s not a switch - even a switch who’ll never go back, the way Dean is. He’s never known the sub-end of the spectrum, but he’s a well-respected Dom. He was Dean’s mentor; he was the first person to press the handle of a whip into his hand and suggest he should give it a swing. Benny understands in a way no one else can. “I took a sub back to my room last night.”

“I know, Cher. Saw you walk out on the cameras,” Benny says with a small grin. “Pretty cute.”

“He’s still in my room.”

“Even better.”

“I never want him to leave, Benny. More than any of the others before, I…” Dean shakes his head and buries his face in his hands. “He bit me this morning. Bit me because he didn’t want me to leave, and he figured if he misbehaved, I’d have to stay and punish him.”

“So.” Benny starts to pace the room, looking thoughtful as he takes meted steps from wall to wall, hands clasped behind his back. “You don’t want him to leave. He doesn’t want you to leave. I’m not seein’ the real problem here, Dean.”

“Oh, come on, Benny. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Fraid so, Cher.” Benny looks apologetic, but there’s a twinkle of expectation in his eyes.

“Everyone always leaves,” Dean spits, wanting to get it out so that it’s out and he doesn’t have to keep the cap on the bottle anymore. “Everyone. Mom, Dad, Adam, Lisa, Anna… Uncle Bobby... I get close to people and they just…” He meets Benny’s eyes for the first time. “I’m afraid of gettin’ hurt again.”

Benny’s quiet for a moment, but his face looks bemused, and he’s slowly licking his lip in a way that implies he’s trying to find a suitable response to Dean’s outburst. Finally, he pins Dean with the most Dominant eyes Dean’s stared into in years and says with a growl, “Pull. Your ass. Out of your head. Boy. And  _ look around you _ . You disappeared last night to get laid and you know what? Ain’t nobody even mad. We kept this place running in peak condition without you through the night, two shift changes, a couple of squabbles on the floor, shit, Dean.  _ Everyone always leaves? _ That’s a hell of a kick in the teeth to the squad who’s got your back around here. I ain’t takin’ it as personal as some might, but you let it get out that you said those words and then I expect you’ll  _ really _ know what it feels like to have people walk away from you.”

Dean’s jaw drops, and he mouths a few words that might be a response if he could ground them, but Benny cuts him off before he can do anything more than stutter.

“I’m not finished, boy, sit your ass down and shut the hell up. Now I get that you got your heart broken, and I sure as hell know you’ve got daddy issues coming out your fuckin’  _ ears _ . But you know who’s not at fault for any of that? You know who doesn’t deserve to suffer for all your misgivings, Cher? That boy. That submissive back in your room who I sure as  _ hell _ hope you left alone responsibly.”

“‘Course I did,” Dean mutters to the tabletop; it’s the only thing Benny’s said so far that he can form an acceptable response to.

“Thank God for small favors.” Benny shakes his head and clutches the back of one high-backed office chair. “Tasked or untasked?”

“Tasked,” Dean responds, drawing a deep sigh of relief that the reprimand seems to be over. “Punished, actually. He’s cleaning my collection.”

Benny softens at that, giving Dean a faraway glance. “I remember the first time I asked you to do that.”

“You wanted to give me an out. Wanted me to know exactly what I was signing up for.”

“Don’t sit here and tell me your motives aren’t exactly the same.”

“Fucking hell, Benny.” He crosses his arms and leans forward, burying his face in the gap. There’s a part of him that wants to lean on his former Dom - to be on his knees and surrender his burden for a moment. He remembers the way he’d always feel a little lighter, his head a little clearer, after a good, solid scene under Benny. And… Benny  _ had _ offered. He looks up with just a hint of pleading in his eyes, and the hard glare that comes back at him is answer enough.

Benny adds words, though, soapboxing for Dean’s benefit. “No,” he says, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “Don’t even ask, Cher, not right now, you know why?”

“Think so. But I need to hear you say it.”

Benny sits down next to him then, putting them on equal footing and crossing his arms over the table to mirror Dean’s posture as he looks him in the eyes. “I said I’d scene with you if you needed it, and that offer stands. But you don’t need that, right now. Right now, you’re looking to duck under my wing as a means of running away. Submissives are strong people made of strong stuff, and what you’re askin’ for ain’t strength, Dean. That’s weakness. It’s cowardice. So no.”

“Hey, Benny?”

“Yeah Dean?”

“Thanks for kicking my ass.”

“Always a pleasure.” He pats a firm hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Now, if you don’t mind. I got a job to do. Gotta pick up the boss man’s slack while he courts a sweet-ass submissive.”

“Fuck off, Benny.”

“I expect an invite to the wedding, Cher.”

This time, Dean lets Benny have the last word before the security chief departs, leaving Dean to shake his head and settle back into his chair.

He checks his watch - Castiel has another hour to finish his task, and Dean still needs to check in with accounting. Or does he? He considers whether the task could be delegated… and sighs.

_ We kept this place running in peak condition without you through the night, two shift changes, a couple of squabbles on the floor. _

_ If you got somewhere to be… you can trust us to run this show. It’s not our first rodeo, and my name’s on the shingle outside, too _ .

He drums his fingers absently on the tabletop, ending with a final bang of his palm against the oak.

Then he makes a call. It’s answered on the third ring.

“Dr. Badass.”

“Ash. I need you to run an errand for me.”

There’s a laugh and the sound of fingers hitting a keyboard on the other end of the line. “Change of clothes for you and I’d be willing to bet you need one for that hottie you scored last night, judging by the lack of walk of shame on the security cameras.”

“Christ, does  _ everyone  _ know? You are not supposed to be looking at that footage,” he adds quickly, but it’s a lost cause. Ash is only Dean’s “personal assistant” at The Mark because “Hacker Extraordinaire” isn’t really a legal job title.

Ash confirms the absurdity of the reprimand with a chuckle. “You told Sam you were going on the hunt. We all tuned in after that. Relax, maestro, you know we just want to see you happy.”

“So here’s what I need.” Dean shakes his head and rubs his temples, choosing to ignore Ash’s comment. “I need not one, not two-- probably four changes of clothes from home, but don’t go takin’ them to my room.”

“Mr. Sexypants is sans sexy pants, isn’t he?”

“Shut up, Ash.”

“Yes Sir, Mr. Winchester Sir!” The mock is obvious; Dean imagines Ash is casting a salute off his forehead with his middle finger as he delivers it.

“Drop them at security in the next 45 minutes. Grab my toiletries bag while you’re at it. Doesn’t have to be perfect, but make sure I at least get a toothbrush. And -- hey, Ash, this is important!” He catches a barrage of  _ zap-zapping _ sounds that say Ash is multitasking Dean’s call against some kind of online gaming system. “I swear, the level of respect I get around here…”

“I have Einstein-quality IQ, bossman. It just takes multiple sources of stimulation to keep this vessel occupied.”

“That ain’t your IQ, hotshot, that’s your ADD.”

“Four changes of comfortable clothing and your toiletries bag, emphasis on a toothbrush, to security in the next 45 minutes,” Ash rattles off in an overly bored monotone. “Anything else, oh Owner and Master of The Mark?”

“I need a standard contract.” He knows he sounds tense even as he says it; that he’s barely comfortable with the idea of the proposition, even though he’s taking the first step.

He expects a quip from Ash, but instead he gets a celebratory howl that nearly blows out his eardrum. He squints and pulls the phone away from his ear, shouting from half an arm’s length, “Ash? Look, buddy--”

“Oh, no, sorry. Not for you, dude. Just took out the Ork King. Fucking  _ succeed _ !”

“ _ Contract _ .”

“Right.”

“Goodbye, Ash.”

“Dr. Badass out.”

***

It’s a new journal. The whole process is new to Cas, to be fair, but this is a  _ brand-new _ journal, and the spine bends like a book that’s never been opened when Cas cracks it for the first time. He works the crease and picks up a pen.

Presses it to the first line.

Picks it up again.

Sighs, and presses it back down. Dean’s instructions echo through his head.

_ Write what you feel, and don’t hold back _ .

_ Just do your best, Angel _ .

_ It’s something I’d like you to do for me regularly if _ …

It’s that “if” that hurts. This wasn’t at all what he’d imagined. This wasn’t something he’d wanted or hoped for.

And yet.

Part of him - the mischievous, problematic bratty part of him - wants to be snarky; wants to write something like “I’m really sorry I bit your penis but I can’t write for shit.”

But a bigger part of him wants to  _ try _ . The bigger part of him cares that what he writes is well received by its intended audience.

And that part of him terrifies the fuck out of the other part.

The pen has a click-trigger, and he turns it so that he can click the plunger with his thumb open-closed-open-closed-open-closed for a solid minute while he jiggles his right leg in indecision.

And then he stops.

He stops  _ everything _ .

He clicks the pen open one last time and begins to write.

***

Ash makes it to security in under 30 minutes and has followed Dean’s instructions to the letter, even going the extra mile to include a couple of protein bars in the duffle. “Gotta keep your strength up, Maestro,” he says with a wink, and Dean nods, flabbergasted. 

Then he sighs, sinking into a chair. “Sit down, Ash,” he says to the tabletop, and the mullet-crested man does so with a clearing of his throat.

“This, uh. This isn’t going to be a ‘sit down because your services are no longer needed’ kind of sit down, is it Dean?”

“What? No, no. Of course not. I’m just, uh. I’m realizing… some things. A lot of things, actually. Like maybe I’ve underestimated the crew here, trying to shoulder too much of this myself. Like maybe there are some things… people… that I could experience differently, and maybe even for the first time, if I’d loosen up my hold on the reigns here, stop being such a workaholic and let myself, I dunno.  _ Person _ .”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Dean jerks and shoots Ash a mildly offended expression, causing the other man to backpedal with his palms up in defense. “I mean. No offense meant, Maestro. You’re a workaholic, I respect that. But ever since Bobby died, you’ve been throwing yourself into this joint like you’re married to ‘er.”

“None taken, Ash. You’re just hammering home the point everyone else has been making all morning. So, you know. Thanks, I guess.” There’s an awkward pause. “I need some numbers from accounting,” he starts, and he realizes he’s so out of practice in asking for help that he can’t even look at Ash as he says it. “And I hate talking to accounting. Their shit makes no sense and I always end up having you run them through all the algorithms anyway, so. Why don’t you make yourself useful? Go up and meet with Jofiel and Hannah. Take a look at the numbers from yesterday, make sure we’re on target to hit our expected profit for the weekend, and then review the philanthropy split. See if we can up the donation going to Domestic Abuse Services by 10 percent and still come away with an overhead from the event. If we can, great. If not, go to Marketing, and I want some new ads placed ASAP for the local intervention hotline.” He pauses, licking slowly at his bottom lip. He’d been uneasy about having this conversation, but as it turns out, once he got the gears turning, the words are tumbling off his tongue with a comfortable flow.

“OK, but hold up. Where’s that funding coming from if it’s not coming from the Fest?”

Dean meets Ash’s eyes and raises his eyebrows with a tiny smile. “You tell me. Take a look back through the quarterly report and see where we draw a profit. Use that funding to pay for ad space.”

“You want final approval before it goes through?”

“Nope.” At Ash’s expression, Dean sobers a notch. “No. You’ve never let me down, Ash. You’re a good kid and I trust you. So you need to, you pull the plug on that without checking in.”

Ash’s nod is uncharacteristically mature. “You got it, Boss.”

“All right. I gotta… go.”

“Right.”

“And Ash?”

“Hmmm?”

“I… thank you. For everything. This pans out, we’ll be having a lot more of these talks in the future.” He ducks out at Ash’s dumbfounded face. He’d love to stay, but… no. Dean’s clock is almost up, and he’s a man of his word.

Castiel is waiting.

***

Cas has been on his knees beside the bed for 10 minutes when he hears the click of Dean’s key opening the door. He tenses slightly but doesn’t look up as the door slides open softly over the carpet, and then there are barely audible footsteps and two more clicks - one to close the door, the other to set the deadbolt.

The footfalls are remarkably measured as they cross the room; Castiel catches Dean’s socked feet in his line of vision and follows them with his eyes across the floor to the bureau, where Dean opens the top drawer, then closes it, and then opens another drawer and puts something inside before closing that one as well.

And then that voice.

Heaven help him - it sounds like coming home.

“Hello Castiel.”

“Hello Sir.” Castiel’s voice cracks on the delivery. Tears threaten, but he bites his bottom lip to will them back.

Dean’s feet move over the floor again, just as measured, until he comes to the bed, where he sits and puts two fingers under Castiel’s chin to lift his face.

When Cas has the strength to raise his eyes as well, he finds sparkling green pools staring back. “Thank you,” Dean says, and his lips slide into a small smile of pride as he pets Castiel’s head. “I’m grateful, and I’m proud of you for what you’ve done here today. Hey. Don’t shy away from me,” he corrects when Cas starts to drop his eyes at the praise. The petting continues silently, and after a moment Castiel melts into it - it’s steady and warming, only changing after a few minutes so that it’s more firm and Dean’s thumb is scratching rather than rubbing. He opens his mouth to maybe speak, but a soft moan comes out instead, and he hears Dean give a quiet hum of satisfaction as the stroking hand comes down to cup the side of Castiel’s face.

Castiel instinctively nuzzles into the strong open palm.

He loses all track of time in the affection and ultimately Dean lulls him to a level of absolute calm the likes of which Castiel can never remember reaching in a position like this, kneeling bare before a Dominant.

_ His _ Dominant.

It doesn’t even  _ sound _ wrong, the way it maybe should.

“Did you journal for me?”

Dean’s voice is a natural extension of the peaceful lull, and Castiel nods into the comfort of his Dominant’s palm. “Yes Sir.”

“Where is it?”

“On the table.”

A few more beats of silence and then the hand is at the back of Castiel’s neck and Dean’s coaxing him back to reality. “Climb up on the bed, Angel. I’ll be right back.”

He complies without wait, and Dean is gone only long enough to retrieve the barely cracked journal from where Castiel left it when he finished his first entry. Dean opens it immediately and reads as he walks back to join Cas on the bed. Cas watches his expression as it fluctuates from bemused to sober to troubled, and back to a careful neutral that barely plays at a smile as he shifts onto the bed, closes the book, places it on his nightstand and pulls Cas into his arms, head resting on Dean’s chest.

A tender kiss is pressed to Castiel’s hair, and then the pressure of Dean’s chin resting upon it. “I’m taking the rest of the weekend off,” Dean finally says, and Castiel jerks suddenly in surprise, moving to look up into the Dominant’s eyes.

“But it’s…”

“My crew can handle it. I have faith in them. I should’ve had more faith in them all along, really. I asked you for a weekend, and since you signed up, it’s unfair of me to keep leaving you here alone.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Dean.” Cas’ brow creases further, if that’s possible, and Dean offers a half smile. “Right now, I just want to talk to you. Man to man. OK? I’ll safeword if I gotta to get you on that ground, but I’m hoping I don’t have to.”

“Sure. Dean.” Castiel tastes the name on his lips again, reflecting how it felt so Dominant last night. It still does, but less sharp, less crisp - more like warm honey. Sweet, but comforting.

“What I, uh. What I need to say is. Is I don’t want you to go. Not now, not ever, Castiel. It’s what I should’ve said last night. Truth is I… I’m pretty insecure.” Castiel watches the blush creep into his cheeks as he huffs a laugh under his breath and ducks his head to run a hand over his mouth before meeting Cas’ eyes again. “I know, right? But uh. My…” He draws a deep breath, biding his time for thought Cas knows, and so he waits. Patience. Dean has from their first moment of interaction been trying to teach him about patience, and Castiel can surely show it here. “I don’t have a bunch of siblings like you do. I just have one - my brother, Sam. He’s four years younger than me, and our mom passed when he was just six months old. Our dad…” He shakes his head, and Cas adjusts slightly, trying to press closer while maintaining eye contact. “He was never the same after that. Didn’t rock the single-parent life so great. Drank and cussed with the best of them, and hell, I’d come home from school sometimes and find him passed out in front of the TV with no idea how long he’d been there, nor how long he’d stay that way, so uh. Yeah. I raised Sammy. Me and my Uncle Bobby, God rest his stubborn soul. And when I was 18, my dad, he… he left. Said I was grown enough now, had been for awhile and, uh.” His inhale is shaky, and his body even moreso. “I did the best I could, and I guess it was all right because Sam… he turned out OK. Went to college, met a great girl, got married, knocked her up, and my nephew man, he’s something else. But me… I’m not that. I didn’t come out… I’m broken, Cas. Just so you know. I’m not perfect, and I don’t come from much.”

Cas considers Dean’s face for a long while. He looks at the furrowed brow, the clenched jaw, the flush of embarrassment burning his features. He takes in the tense body that’s trying to hold him, but really, right now, it ought to be the other way around. He considers a bear hug, but goes for something more tender - a hand in a hand, a smile in his face, and eyes that refuse to look away. “You’re human,” he observes lightly. “Right?”

Dean scoffs in spite of himself. “Right.” In the stillness that follows, Cas watches Dean lick his lips. “So anyway. I kind of got this… complex.”

“About being deserted.”

“Right. Wait. What?”

“Takes one to know one, you know.”

Dean’s laugh is a bitten off bark that echoes through the room as he throws his head back. “So we’re just a couple of broken motherfuckers, cursed enough to stumble into each other in this place, is that it?”

“Why is that so wrong?”

“I guess I…” Dean sighs and his eyes find Castiel’s again. The seriousness is gone for the most part, and the soberness for sure. “I get attached quickly, and it never ends well.” Cas says nothing, just holds the gaze, and Dean does that lip-licking thing again that Cas is quickly finding he has a kink for. “I was hoping for better with you.”

“You feel you’re attached to me?”

“In the most dangerous kind of way. The way that almost always has me rebounding hard, moping around this place like a lost puppy for a week, diving into my work and banging random subs for kicks. And frankly, I’d rather not do that anymore.” The line of conversation dead-ends, and they fall into silence for a few minutes, Dean idly stroking Castiel’s hair, and Cas returning the favor, running his fingers along the length of Dean’s forearm. “So. Illinois, huh?”

“Yep.”

“And you hate your job.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you just lost your boyfriend.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, he’s three for three!”

“Hey. Stow the sass.”

“Sorry.” Only at the end of the exchange, as Dean pauses to redirect, does Cas realize they’ve carried it off like a couple of lovers who’ve been… well…  _ anything _ for a lot longer than a day. He clears his throat, trying to shake the thought, but he can’t, and after a moment, he gives up. It’s comfortable. It ought to be left alone.

“Move here with me.” It’s not a question or a request; it comes out instead as a direction, as an order, and Cas finds himself pulling back to shoot puzzling eyes at Dean. “What?”

“I do have a  _ life _ back at home, Dean. Much as your… offer… interests me, I do have to actually quit my job, find a subleaser, alert my friends to my sudden change in address...”

“Ah-a!” Dean sits up, pointing an accusing finger at Cas, who pulls back entirely to disconnect from the touch.

“What?”

“You said “I  _ do _ ”. Not “I  _ would _ .” That’s an affirmative. You’ve already made up your mind.” But when Cas says nothing further, Dean doesn’t push, and that’s admirable. He laughs instead, and it’s infectious - gets up under Castiel’s ribs until he’s laughing, too, and they roll into one another, briefly lovers, maybe friends - miles from Dominant and submissive.

Or are they?

It’s not anything like what Cas had with Balthazar.

It sounds like it’s not anything like anything Dean’s had… ever.

Maybe this is perfectly right, and perfectly  _ normal _ , to be this fun, to abandon structure and simply enjoy one another’s humor and company. He breaks away and sobers, finding Dean’s eyes.

“Dean?”

“Yeah Cas?” It rings out and bounces against the inside of Castiel’s brain that this is the first time since their meeting that Dean’s consented to using his nickname. It makes him smile wider, and Dean smiles back.

“I need to go home tomorrow.” Dean’s eyes drop to where his hands rest on the comforter, and his face falls to neutral. “To put my affairs in order. It’s not… I walked away from a lot of people and a lot of things and threw myself into what Balthazar offered me without looking back. I really… I don’t want to burn those bridges again. But… if you’ll give me a couple of weeks… if you can trust that I’m coming back, then I’m going to promise you I’m coming back.”

“How will I know?”

“Well, we’ll call. We’ll text. I can get one of those social media… things…” he shivers, and Dean laughs audibly. “If I have to. But in the end… you’re just going to have to trust me.”

“I’m not great at that.”

“Neither am I.”

They fall into silence again, and Cas feels something settle into his gut - it’s an odd combination of anxiety and desire that has him squirming after a moment, entirely unsettled.

Dean pulls back when the movement is too much and gives him a questioning look, to which Cas can only offer a sad smile and a shrug. Then suddenly, Dean’s kissing him, warm and deep and full on the lips. Their tongues tangle and slide and Cas molds into the Dominant body that’s holding him, lulling him into his natural submissive state. This is better. This feels good and right and makes that unsettling gnaw in his gut disappear. The words are out before Cas can stop them, voice strained but clear against Dean’s neck. “Scene with me?”

“I told you there wasn’t gonna be any of that tonight, and I’m a man of my word.”

But Cas stands his ground. “I’m planning to uproot my entire life for you, Dean Winchester.  _ You’re _ asking me to do that.  _ You’re _ asking me to trust you. Give me a reason.”

It’s a solid argument, and Cas knows it, but for a moment he thinks Dean still might say no - he pulls back, holding Castiel’s head in his hands, and pierces Cas through with an unshaking glare.

“No games.”

A slow shake of the head. “No Sir.”

“You’ll take whatever I give you. Trust me to take care of you.”

“That’s the deal.”

There’s a growl ahead of the gravely reply. “Then I want you on your knees, boy. We have some unfinished business.”

***

Dean’s first instinct is to be rough, but he pushes that back with a hard swallow. Castiel is leaving tomorrow. He’s going back to a job he plans to resign; to an apartment he needs to unload; to, undoubtedly, a lifetime of belongings he needs to box up and transport. Castiel has lived in Illinois all his life, and he’s going to leave it behind and move to Kansas to be with Dean. Castiel is…

_ Amazing _ . Worthy of a lifetime of gentle touches and praise and care. Castiel is a gift. Castiel is everything Dean wants. Absolutely, without exception,  _ everything _ . When he looks at Cas -  _ Cas _ , he’s gonna be calling him “Cas” before too long, except probably when they scene - he doesn’t just see a submissive. His heart flutters and he  _ feels _ something that tugs at his soul. He catches split-second glimpses of making permanent space for Castiel in his home; of not just bondage rings, but wedding rings; of working late nights together, bent over expansion plans for The Mark. He sees a partner. He sees a future.

So instead, Dean circles Castiel’s kneeling form once with measured paces before standing before him and undressing, movements just as measured as his steps. When he’s naked, he kneels to put himself on the sub’s level. He’s a couple of inches taller than Castiel, but it doesn’t matter; their eyes meet, and Dean holds the gaze, searching, letting himself be searched. He lets the minutes tick for as long as he can, because the longer he looks, the more he notices things about Castiel.

First, he just notices that those impossibly blue eyes are actually one lighter shade of blue with scattered dark blue specks. He wonders how that’s possible.

Then he’s distracted by an infinitesimal downtick of the sub’s eyes, and a faint shift of his jaw before he’s square on Dean again.

Castiel’s lips are dry, and that makes Dean’s tongue dart out to lick his own impulsively.

That’s when he can’t stand it anymore.

He leans forward and with a supporting hand at the back of Castiel’s neck, he kisses him full and soft and slow on the mouth. Not just on the lips - this is a kiss that consumes as much as it offers. The kiss is the same as the look in time and pacing; he maintains it, explores, lets Cas explore, but holds it there, nothing more than a deep, passionate kiss. Again, the minutes tick by. Again, Dean’s in no rush. He begins to notice things like the fact that Castiel has a really long tongue, and that certainly had its advantages.

Like the fact that his hand molds perfectly around the back of Castiel’s head.

Like how Cas is somehow completely pliant while still holding himself upright.

When Dean breaks the kiss and their foreheads come to rest naturally together, both of them breathing into the space between, mirrored expressions of swollen, parted lips and glassy eyes, Dean breathes, “I told you earlier I’m not going to use anything from that drawer on you tonight. That’s still true.” He lets those blue eyes hide behind lids in disappointment, as expected. “I don’t need ‘em. I want you to feel me. Just me. No toys, no restraints, no nothin’, Angel. Just you and me. OK?”

“Yes Sir.”

Dean isn’t sure about Castiel, but he, for one, can’t hold this position much longer. So instead he stands and runs his hands through Castiel’s locks gently, as he had before, and then says, “Stand up, Angel.” He waits for compliance before continuing, “Good. Lie on the bed, face down.” This time he doesn’t wait for compliance but instead moves to his nightstand for bottle of massage oil. Of the three bottles inside, he dances his fingers over two different scents, back and forth for a couple of passes before tapping one decisively with his index finger and palming it.

“It’s possible that you do actually get off on corporal punishment,” he says idly, intentionally keeping the meter of the scene at a snail’s pace, “and I can work with that, if that’s the case. But it’s also possible that no one’s ever taken the time to be attentive with you in any other way.” He makes himself comfortable on Castiel’s right side and squeezes a few drops of oil into his left palm, smiling as he watches the sub’s shoulders relax at the scent. Taking that as encouragement, he rubs his hands together to warm and spread the oil and then sets to work, starting with Castiel’s right shoulder. “It’s possible that your body’s been conditioned to respond to impact… to crave it… when what you really need? Is  _ this _ , Angel.” He kneads deeply, slowly, and bathes in the warmth of Castiel’s moans. Dean doesn’t really expect a reply to anything that he’s saying, but he’s resolved that he’ll welcome the other man’s words if they come. “Make no mistake that  _ this _ is what you can expect from me. You will be my number one concern. Not my plaything, not my pet, not a toy that I toss aside when I get tired of you. When you belong to me, you  _ belong _ to me. And I will… touch… and I will tease… and I can be intense, I promise you that.” He’s pressing with both hands along Castiel’s spine now, thumbs dragging up slowly, pressing and smoothing over tight muscles. “I’ll push you, and I’ll fuck you, and Baby I’ll make your screams echo off the rafters of my playroom. But I’m not in this for me. In the end, I’m here… to give you…  _ everything _ that you need.”

He stops his litany as he feels a ragged breath shudder through his partner, thinking maybe the other man has something to say.

It’s only when his hands pause as well that he feels the telltale hitch.

He lifts his hands entirely at that. “Castiel?”

There’s no verbal reply - just a body pulling upright, and a sobbing submissive curling up in his lap.

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, so he just strokes the locks of hair and the stubble on the right side of Cas’ head, and waits.

***

He doesn’t mean to cry. Really, he doesn’t. And when he thinks about it, Cas can’t even say for certain  _ why  _ he’s crying. But here he is, curled up in Dean’s lap and hugging him tightly around the middle like a terrified child.

God, he must look absurd. They’re both naked, and Cas knows he’s exposed - emotionally, physically, so vulnerable it fucking hurts - but he can’t stop. He’s sniffling and sobbing against Dean’s chest and there doesn’t seem to be any end in sight.

Somewhere in the fog of his brain, he registers a hand gently petting his hair and face. The smell of the oil… something earthy that Cas can’t place… is stronger now, with that coated hand right near his nostrils, and he finds himself drawing deep breaths between sobs. With each inhale and exhale, he’s calmer, and finally he’s quiet, just shaking, still safe and warm in a strong pair of arms.

Guilt takes over, then, and he cries a new verse of tears. “‘M sorry,” he whimpers, and clutches tightly to the first part of Dean’s body he can gain purchase of - which happens to be Dean’s right arm. Distantly Cas knows it’s connected to the stroking hand, but it doesn’t matter. He clings to that arm like he’s drowning and this is his life preserver.

“Shhhh,” comes the response, and instead of trying to free himself like Cas expects, Dean brings his free left arm around to pull him closer. “None of that, Angel. None of that now.”

It’s the most tender thing Cas can remember anyone doing for him in… ever, maybe, and it tips a new bucket of silent tears down his cheeks. He squeezes Dean’s right arm tighter to his chest.

He has no idea how long they stay like that.

He knows that after awhile, he lets up his grip. He knows that the knot of guilt that had settled into his gut at the ruined scene starts to unravel and soften and eventually dissipates. He knows that in the entire time that he’s in the embrace, Dean never once complains or tenses or attempts to change their position.

He waits.

He waits for Castiel to make a move.

“‘S the smell?” Cas finally mumbles, surprised by the slack of his own voice.

“Sandalwood,” comes a soft reply, followed by a palm held up for Cas to take another inhale.

“I like it.”

“I’ll get more.”

There’s a comfortable lull. Castiel’s eyelids droop, but he stubbornly keeps them open as he shifts in Dean’s embrace to offer a lopsided smile. “Thank you.”

“I told you I’m a man of my word. I keep my promises.”

“Sorry about--”

“ _ Hey _ .” The interruption is loud and abrupt, and Cas startles back, eyes suddenly wide at the contrast. “None of that. Not another word, I mean it. Scenes fall apart sometimes. And like I said, this isn’t about me.”

“Why are you…?” The question can’t find completion, much as Cas tries to push it toward one. “My… Balthazar. The one who… left me. He only ever wanted one thing. Most Dominants I’ve come across before and since, same story.”

“Expectation. Stereotyping. My history with submissives isn’t much better.” Somehow, in the middle of Dean’s reply, they manage to pull back the bedcovers without fully breaking contact from one another and fall into the warmth of linen and cotton and body heat. “Somehow, some way, the reality of all this… didn’t live up to the hype. They always left kind of… disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed.”

There’s no verbal reply, but rather a muscled body folded over his own, and a tender kiss pressed to his right temple. “Well then I guess…” Cas can feel Dean’s face splitting, “I guess it’s good that of all the people here, you chose to hit on me.”

“Best decision I’ve ever made.”

“Water?”

“In a minute.”

“I wait a minute, you’re gonna fall asleep, Angel.”

“I like that you call me Angel.” His eyes are already closed. His reply has nothing to do with the subject of water.

He barely catches a huff of laughter; barely feels the press of lips to his own; barely registers arms pulling him into a cocoon of warmth and skin on skin.

The next time Cas opens his eyes, there are no longer sunbeams filtering through the window blinds, but by his measure, Dean hasn’t moved an inch. Cas is still wrapped up in the safety and warmth of Dean and the sheets and blankets and bed.

And  _ that’s _ when Cas knows for sure.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The scent of sandalwood relaxes brain waves and pacifies anxiety, anger and rage. It's also a scent close to human pheromone and is considered an aphrodisiac. Just in case you were wondering what Dean's intentions were in his selection: Yes, he did plan for sex. Yes, he did stop for Castiel, and yes, the same scent, especially coming off of Dean's hand and thus mixed with his personal scent and feel, was able to calm Castiel.
> 
> And if you're wondering about the flogger Benny gave Dean, I was picturing something like [this](http://www.efleathercraft.com/Deer_Floggers.htm).


End file.
